


Nostos

by sierraadeux



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Alternate Universe - Magic, First Dates, M/M, Meet-Cute, Strangers to Lovers, Veterinarian Phil, Wizards, also they're adults, but not hogwarts, no owls were harmed in the making of this love story, or are they?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:34:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25809679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sierraadeux/pseuds/sierraadeux
Summary: Having to call every vet in Greater London isn't exactly flying under the radar. But when a window is left open, whatever comes through must be dealt with, no matter the dust it may stir up.
Relationships: Dan Howell/Phil Lester
Comments: 85
Kudos: 104





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ThoughtaThought](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThoughtaThought/gifts).



> written for [thoughtathought](https://thoughtathought.tumblr.com/) big thank you for finally giving me the excuse and nudge to write my spin on a hp au! our shared chaos is always appreciated
> 
> alternative tags: meet cute but make it slightly dunking on jk rowling

“-don’t take very well to these impractical jokes, sir.” 

Dan taps at the red on his screen, disconnecting the call without any formalities. A loud groan fills his small office as he drops his head to his desk. 

He’s been at this for the better half of an hour now. 

There’s a soft, pleading coo from somewhere to his left, but he isn’t about to lift his head to pinpoint its exact location. It’s probably better if he doesn’t, to be honest. _Merlin knows_ _what mess is being made of the carpet._

He’ll be kissing his deposit goodbye, lest he obliviate his landlord. Which… he’s not entirely opposed to that actually, now that he’s thinking about it. 

Dan sighs. There’s more pressing things at the moment than morally questionable magic. Or, well, thing. Just the one thing. One very white, very much not belonging to Dan, and very may well be hurt, thing. 

Dan is never, ever opening his flat’s windows again. That’s for sure. 

It was just so nice _—_ the fresh, crisp breeze flowing through his stuffy flat from the crack in the window no wider than the length of his pinky finger. How could he have not blown it open the rest of the way, letting in the new air as he tapped away at his computer. The breeze was cool, and he was incredibly cozy in his soft hoodie _—_ peak existence, if you will _—_ so of course something had to go wrong. 

There’s still a chill in the air as Dan picks his head up off the desk and pinches the bridge of his nose. Half of him hopes the damned bird will fly back out, but the other half knows it won’t. 

And deep down, he knows there’s no division to how much he wants to help. He’s got a soft spot for animals; doesn’t know why anyone wouldn’t, if he’s being honest. 

So he clicks to the next tab, the last one he has up. He taps the number into his phone, his last chance before he has to start the debate between going somewhere he’d much rather not or risk trying to charm the problem away himself. Which, considering his almost failing marks in Care of Magical Creatures, the latter probably isn’t the best idea _—_ though to this day he’ll still argue that he wasn’t actually bad at the class, he was just _distracted._

The phone rings through the speaker. Dan shakes himself out of his thoughts to prepare himself for the same response he’s gotten from the first ten rescues, vets, and shelters he’s called. 

He got a fair few, “ _We only take emergencies_ ,” despite Dan’s insistence upon this being the very definition of an emergency. Then, “ _We don’t take wild animals_ ,” paired with a recurring laugh or scoff in his ear and the suggestion that Dan has nothing better to do than make ridiculous prank calls on a Friday afternoon. There were even a handful of vague threats to call the RSPCA on him for housing an owl without a permit, even though he reminded them it isn’t his pet and he was _just on the phone with them_ minutes prior. 

It’s fair to say he’s lost all steam, and patience, at this point. 

“I’m sorry, an _owl?”_ the voice on the other line repeats. 

“Yes, this isn’t a prank or anything, really I just-” There’s a shuffle over the phone, the muffled sound of another voice, a hand over the receiver perhaps, and Dan trails off. 

He sighs, about to accept that he’s going to have to go that bit of _beyond_ London for help, but then, there’s a different, much deeper voice filling the room. 

“Hello? Are you still there?” 

There’s something familiar about it, something Dan can’t quite place, but he’s had too weird of a day to put much thought into it. 

“Erm- yeah?” 

“You really have an owl that needs treatment?” the voice on the other line asks in that similar tone of disbelief he’s continuously been on the receiving end of, but there’s almost a hint of something else there. Belief _—_ curiosity, maybe. Dan knows better than to have that sort of hope. 

“Yes. I do,” Dan replies. “It came in through the window, and I would have ushered it back out, but it seems to be in pain. Something’s not right with its foot.” 

There’s a hum over the phone. Then, simply, “What’s the name?”

“Daniel.” 

“That’s a good name.” 

“Uh,” Dan scratches at the back of his head, “thanks?” 

“Very welcome,” they say, bright. “And what’s your name, first and last.” 

Dan’s brows tug together. “Uh… Howell.” 

“Uh-huh…” they hum. There’s silence over the line, Dan looking increasingly curious at his phone. 

“Daniel… Howell?” Dan tries. 

There’s a laugh, hearty even through the tinny speakers of Dan’s phone. “Oh, should I put the owl down as a junior then?” 

“ _What?_ ” 

“You named the owl after yourself! Or is it an old owl? Were you named after it?” 

“I am not named after an owl,” Dan mutters under his breath. Then, clearing his throat, he says, “The bloody owl doesn’t have a name. It isn’t my pet.” 

“Oh.” There’s a soft clicking of a tongue. “That’s not very nice, is it?”

Dan grits his teeth. “Well it’s not very nice that it _flew into my flat_ ,” Dan says through his teeth. “I didn’t put saving an injured owl on my list of things to do today,” he adds, tone getting increasingly annoyed. “So if you could just tell me if I can bring-” 

“Yes, yes. Sorry!” the voice on the other line cuts him off. Dan bites his tongue. “We close in an hour, if you can come in before then?” 

“Absolutely.” A small weight lifts off Dan’s shoulders. “Thank you.” 

But when the phone clicks, it dawns on Dan that he has _no_ fucking clue how he’s going to get this thing across London. 

_Actually,_ where even is this vet? He’s called so many of them he’s lost track. Dan shakes his computer mouse, bringing his screen back to life and pulling the address attached to the last number he called up on maps. 

_Oh._ Definitely walkable. That’s… good, at least. Dan didn’t really want to think about calling a cab or taking the tube with a goddamn owl on his arm. Though, speaking of, there’s still that whole issue of _how_ he’s going to walk the bird there. It’s wishful thinking that it would just… come along with him, right? 

Dan turns slowly in his office chair, eyeing the snowy owl who’s seemingly made itself at home on the armchair by the window. 

Beyond the angry red talons limply gripping at the back of the chair, the bird is really the spitting image of one Dan once knew. He’s hit with a wave of nostalgia as he looks into the owl’s bright yellow eyes, his heart softening just a little bit more. 

He reckons that’s why he’s so persistent, so insistent on getting it help. Even if he’s tried to leave all that behind him, there’s a spot in that heart of his kept just soft enough by his casual use of magic and the scarf hung next to his coat by the door _—_ amongst the few other little trinkets and mementos he hasn’t let go of. 

There’s an excuse for the scarf, he tells himself at least. Despite his gravitation towards a darker wardrobe nowadays he still looks _good_ in red. And the gold goes nicely with the four thin hoops of the same color that climb up Dan’s right ear _—_ there’s a fifth that’s poked through his nose, a gift from rebellious seventeen year old Dan that he now couldn’t imagine his face without. So he’s held on to it for aesthetic reasons, that’s all.

The other stuff? Well, there isn’t an excuse readily available there. He sticks to the whole out of sight out of mind mentality with all of that. Though he tells himself that maybe, maybe it’ll come in handy one day. 

Wait- 

“That’s it!” Dan exclaims to no one _—_ or, well, to himself and the owl that doesn’t blink or flinch when he shoots up from his desk chair with a determined grin. 

It’s not exactly graceful. Though Dan’s quite tall, there’s a reason why he hasn’t opened the hatch in the ceiling to his crawl space storage since he moved in _—_ since he shoved the remnants of his past life up there and pulled the hatch tight. 

Once it’s cracked open, Dan finds himself teetering on one of his less than sturdy dining table chairs with the top half of his body disappearing into the ceiling. After a few unsuccessful blinks to adjust his eyes, Dan braces himself with a hand on the ceiling, muttering a “ _lumos_ ” and sticking the wand he just procured between his teeth so he can reach without toppling over. 

A constant string of expletives are muffled as they leave his mouth, with the added light he can actually _see_ all of the dust coming straight for his eyes. He blinks through it, only disturbing the floating particles more and more with his outstretched arm patting behind his various boxes and trunks _—_ maybe he’s kept far more than he likes to think. 

There’s a muffled hum sounding more like “ _mox_ ” when Dan’s fingers finally catch on metal bars, and even he’s surprised that the light goes out easily as he carefully steps down from the chair. He’s so meticulous about a lot of things, but ironically, that trait rarely extends to his use of magic. It’s honestly shocking that he gets away with such flippant use. 

Feet firmly on the ground, Dan cradles the simple bird cage between the crook of his arm and his hip, wiping the spit off his poor wand before putting it away and using the collar of his hoodie to rub the dust from his eyes. He’s overtaken by a row of three sneezes, delayed, and he shakes his head when he looks back up from them, blinking his eyes only to meet another pair at the end of the hall. 

The owl, somehow, looks as if it’s amused _—_ like it’s mocking Dan. Like it thinks all of this is quite funny. 

Dan huffs. 

Then, because it’s not like he has anything else to lose, Dan tries something. He swings open the cage door and looks to the owl, fully ready to look like an idiot. 

“Well, come on then.” 

To Dan’s surprise, there’s a flutter of wings, a white flash coming towards him until the cage he’s holding becomes heavier in his hand. 

The owl perches easily, the tender foot just hovering a bit, and it turns its head to look at Dan. 

Dan lets out a breath, gently swinging the cage door shut. It creaks a bit, rusted where the lock clicks, and Dan doesn’t know why that makes him feel a little sad. 

“Aren’t you clever?” He finds himself cooing to the bird.


	2. Chapter 2

Dan spends too much time debating whether he should charm the cage or not for his ten minute walk that there’s really no time to change after he settles on simply draping a black towel overtop. London is proper weird sometimes, but he doesn’t exactly want to be drawing that kind of attention to himself carrying a snowy owl down the road. The second he pushes open the door to the vets, Dan instantly regrets not taking the extra two minutes to swap his trackies for jeans, and his hoodie for something a little less oversized and cozy.

As he approached, he could hear the soft, muffled sounds of laughter through the door, but when the bell rings overhead the room falls quiet, two sets of eyes turning straight to him. The receptionist sat behind the counter schools the amused look on her face into a polite smile, rolling forward in her chair to get out of her relaxed posture as she tucks a strand of pink behind her ear. 

Dan has the courtesy to lift the corner of his mouth back, nodding briefly as he _thinks_ she says his name, but he’s entirely lost to the world as his eyes flick to the man sitting _atop_ the receptionist’s desk. 

He doesn’t adjust his posture upon Dan’s entrance, all relaxed long limbs and a lopsided smile that pulls up a little higher on one side when Dan meets his gaze. If it weren’t for the white coat, tugging at his shoulders as he leans back on his hands, and the black scrubs underneath, Dan wouldn’t peg him as a vet. Which is quite silly really, considering the fact that Dan has no reason to know anything about muggle vets _—_ or vets in general. So he’s not sure why he walks in with the preconceived notion that they can’t have this casual air about them, or be… this _attractive._

Dan follows the bright, thin line of color down the vet’s leg _—_ it’s because of the pop of color, the distracting motion of the swing of his long legs as his heels tap against the front of the desk, _not_ because Dan is checking him out. Not at all. 

There’s the sound of a throat being cleared, and Dan snaps his eyes back up _—_ between the two strangers instead of directly at either one of them _—_ as the vet slides off the counter. 

“Daniel and… Daniel?” the vet asks with a soft chuckle, approaching Dan with his head cocked to the side, eyeing the covered bird cage. 

Dan can feel his face is burning, he’d be a fool to think those bright patches of red aren’t blooming up his neck and jaw, so he bites back on the reply on his tongue. He just wants to get this done with, now that he’s made a complete idiot of himself. 

“Uh,” Dan lifts the cage slightly, “yeah.” He goes to pass the cage off, but the hand held out to him isn’t an offer to take it. 

Dan wipes his free palm on his joggers in the least inconspicuous way, and lets his hand be shaken. 

“Phil,” the vet smiles, and not one offhand comment about how loose Dan’s grip is leaves his mouth as he introduces himself. Maybe not _everyone_ feels the need to death grip during handshakes to assert their dominance, or whatever, but Dan rarely gets the opposite treatment so it’s always a bit shocking when he does.

And nice. It’s nice too. Phil’s hand is really soft _—_ do all vets have soft hands, is that just something Dan hadn’t been aware of until now? And do all vets have such _blue_ eyes, piercing almo- 

Dan is _still_ holding Phil’s hand. He is staring into a stranger’s eyes hanging onto his hand while holding a goddamn owl in a cage against his hip like all of this is completely normal to do. 

“Why don’t we have a look, hm?” Phil says once Dan drops his hand, before he can mutter an apology or do anything other than sheepishly nod.

Phil motions to a door to the left, and when he starts off towards it without any sort of offer to take the animal from Dan, Dan follows along. 

Which is how he finds himself walking down a small hallway filled with different colorful doors. He follows Phil through a blue one, and only then does the other man turn on his heel and hold his hands out for the cage. 

Dan doesn’t know why he stays. He was thinking this would be a type of drop and go situation. He doesn’t even care about the cage, doesn’t know why he still has it in the first place. There’s two reasons _—_ two excuses _—_ bouncing around in his head, and he’s not sure he likes either of them to be honest. 

There’s something about the vet- _Phil_ that makes it hard for Dan to keep his eyes to himself. He doesn’t know if he’s grasping at justifications for having such a one track mind, but something tells him it’s not just because he’s beautiful. 

He is. _Very_ beautiful, that is. And that’s _very_ distracting. So much so it’s hard for Dan to pinpoint whatever it is that’s making him feel like he _recognizes_ the vet. It’s probably something simple. Dan lives right down the road, and he’s probably _—_ definitely _—_ just using this excuse to ignore the other glaring reason why he’s still here, standing on the other side of the metal table Phil has just placed the cage on. 

Phil lets the towel fall from the cage, and Dan feels the yellow eyes he’s met with like a squeeze at his heart. 

“Oh!” Phil coos, bending a bit to look into the cage. “You’re beautiful.” 

The owl doesn’t keep Dan’s gaze for long, its head turning towards Phil as he struggles with the clasp of the lock. 

Dan lets out a small sigh, his fingers flexing at his side for his wand to help unstick the lock. He stops himself, he always does, and Phil has it open no more than three seconds later. It’s been a long day, he tells himself. 

That’s why his first instinct is magic. 

That’s why he’s feeling himself getting attached to this bird. 

He isn’t. That’s not at all what’s happening here as he watches Phil hold a hand out, humming something soft as the owl flutters its wings a bit before perching right on his arm. Dan doesn’t at all feel that spike of worry that comes with a connection to the creature when Phil frowns at the injured foot held up to his eyes. It’s not like that. He’s worried because he cares about the wellbeing of animals, not _this_ animal specifically. 

There’s an ease in which Phil speaks and moves with the bird. It’s almost as hypnotizing as his eyes, and it only makes that funny feeling in Dan’s stomach bubble over. Like, he actively has to remind himself that this was the last _muggle_ vet on his list. And also, people typically don’t come to a vet to pick up _—_ _especially_ when they’re in a pair of trackies that are probably well overdue for a wash. 

So whatever’s brewing has got to stop immediately. 

He tells himself that, keeps reminding himself over and over, but listening to his own advice has never been Dan’s strong suit. Instead of actually taking in the things Phil is saying as he checks out the owl and rifles through various drawers behind him, Dan’s fixating on just how messy the curls atop his head are, taking a quick discreet sniff of his hoodie to check if he put deodorant on, and saying a small thank you that he treated himself to his nicer aftershave this morning after ending his good week and a half long run of a pretty dodgy mustache. 

But every single thought Dan has bouncing around his head goes by the wayside when Phil turns back around with whatever tool he was looking for to cut into the fishing line that’s tangled around the owl’s foot. 

“Would you mind…” Phil looks up at Dan from where he’s slightly crouching by the owl’s foot. Dan quirks a brow, but when Phil looks from him to the bird, he gets it. “I think she’ll be fine, but I don’t want to spook her too much.” 

Dan nods, stepping forward and tentatively putting his hands out. The owl doesn’t flinch, or even move really, as he holds a firm hand against her soft back. 

“This alright?” he asks Phil. Or the owl. Both really. 

“Perfect, thank you,” Phil hums, more focused on the task at hand. 

“Oh,” Phil chuckles as he clips at the plastic line. His eyes flick up momentarily, Dan’s breath catches in his throat. “Daniel junior is a girl, by the way.” 

Dan stops himself from huffing, not wanting to scare the animal he’s gently stroking _—_ calming the small shakes he feels under his hand at every clip of the line. 

“S’not my pet,” Dan says, mostly under his breath. “And it doesn’t have a name.”

“Well,” Phil starts. He pauses his train of thought as he pulls away a long string of the line, standing back up straight with it and looking at Dan. “Such a brave creature definitely deserves a name.” The line dangles from his fingers as he flashes Dan a small smile before patting gently at the owl’s head and turning to toss the line in the tray on the counter behind him. The owl lets out a soft sound, and Dan barely feels it rumble against his hand as his brain whirrs to life. 

He knows Phil. He’s sure of it now. 

And it sure as hell isn’t on account of a bump on the streets of London or a caught gaze on the tube. It isn’t just an inkling of recognition either, the floodgates have been properly opened. 

Dan feels like an entire idiot _—_ maybe even more than that, an idiot and a half, two full idiots in one Dan shaped body _—_ when Phil turns back around and he properly looks at him with clear, fresh eyes. 

_Ten_ whole idiots in one Dan shaped body, Dan decides when his eyes hit the yellow stitching at the collar of Phil’s black scrubs, the same shade as the long line going down the side of his legs. How could he be so stupid? Quite literally every sign was there, yet it took this long for Dan to realize. 

How could he have forgotten about those eyes? 

School is a touchy subject for Dan _—_ always has been, probably always will be. Unlike most, Dan doesn’t tout himself for “peaking” during those years, he doesn’t let himself linger or reminisce on those memories, whether they’re happy or otherwise. He’d argue that if he ever peaked, it was back when he made the decision to leave that whole part of his world aside _—_ or, at least, most of it. 

He reckons that’s why it took him this long to make the connection. There’s a lot of compartmentalized boxes to sort through to get there, and a big, clanging key ring to pull out and try until one unlocks the one he wants. But for whatever reason, the words from Phil’s lips may as well have been _“Alohomora.”_

It feels worlds away, though it’s as if the concrete under Dan’s feet is replaced with the plush grass of the school ground. He’s much younger, somehow much more bitter and angsty _—_ if that’s even possible. 

Coming from a wizarding family, Dan’s excuse was always being used to the odd creatures they encountered every class, and that’s why the stars in his eyes were directed at something- _someone_ else, unlike his peers. For how focused he was on the older student assistant, his words about the importance of a name _—_ no matter how big or small the creature _—_ went a bit in one ear and out the other.

On the other hand, those shining blue eyes and the stark, dark hair hanging over a strikingly pale forehead are recalled perfectly. He’s so much different now, but those sharp features are still there. Softer hair is pushed back, up off his forehead, in a slightly tousled look. There’s a few shimmers of silver tangled in with the black, as well as a hint of something lighter, warmer at the crest of his forehead and the shorter sides. It’s so very… mundane. Normal. Muggle in the way Dan chooses to set his water to boil on the kettle, savoring the few quiet moments it takes to hiss instead of the instant gratification from the end of a wand. 

His shoulders are broader. He stands taller, though there’s still that hint of lingering imperfect posture as he bends to tend to the owl. There’s no doubt in Dan’s mind that this is the same person. 

“We went to school together,” Dan blurts. 

Phil’s head snaps up, familiar blue eyes going wide. He shakes his head. 

“Unless you went to RVC, you’re mistaken,” Phil says. He looks back down to the owl. “I went to school a long ways from here before that,” he adds in a low voice. 

“Yeah.” Dan cocks his head, shrinking down the slightest bit in an attempt to meet Phil’s eye. “Me too.” 

Phil glances up, squinting. “You went to ve-” 

“D’you still have the scar from that hippogriff bite?” Dan interrupts with a sly grin. 

Phil is quick to stand up straight, holding his left hand over his right. “He didn’t bite me! He was just being friendly, saying hello.” 

Dan snorts, shaking his head. “Yeah, that’s exactly what happened,” he says, sarcasm dripping from his tongue.

“You try not blinking for that long! Once you think about it, it's all you can do!” 

Dan’s laughing now, Phil forgetting his shame and waving his hands around as he speaks. It’s a miracle he isn’t hitting the owl, or himself, in the face. 

“I did,” Dan says, smirking. He lifts a brow. “Was pretty easy.” 

“God,” Phil shakes his head, his wide eyes going softer as he looks at Dan with a familiar smile. “I _knew_ you looked familiar.” 

Considering- everything really, it’s funny that _Phil_ remembering _Dan_ is what shocks Dan the most. It’s not like they ever interacted, Dan too shy, too standoffish to make many friends, never mind a year seven that he didn’t even let himself accept he was looking at with anything but admiration at the time. Massive crush was more like it, bit it took him quite some time to come to terms with that. By then, that other life, and Phil Lester, were long gone. 

“Really?” Dan has to ask, because he can’t wrap his brain around it. 

Phil nods enthusiastically. “Howell,” he says slowly, enunciating Dan’s name in a way that makes Dan lose focus on everything that isn’t Phil’s lips. “How could I forget.” His eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles wide. “You won me the bet!” 

Dan’s brows tug together. “The bet?” 

“Couple of us had a thing going,” Phil scratches at the back of his head, cheeks flushing a lovely shade of pink, “whether you would find a way to change houses with how grumpy you were about being-” 

“I grew out of it!” Dan huffs, crossing his arms. “Or into it, I guess,” he adds, looking down at his shoes with a shrug. There’s a soft chuckle from the other side of the table. Dan doesn’t dare look up on the account of his blazing cheeks. 

“You made me a rich man. A sickle a head for everyone betting against you,” Phil says with a proud smile. 

“ _Jesus_ ,” Dan huffs under his breath. “What, did the whole school bet against me?” 

“Nope! There were only five of us.” 

Dan sputters out a laugh, snorting as he shakes his head at Phil. “Woah, take it easy big spender.” 

“Don’t worry, I put it away for a rainy day,” Phil reassures with a cheeky smile. “Maybe I’ll treat myself to a Butterbeer one of these days.” 

“Smart with investments,” Dan bumps his hip against the metal table, “you sure you meant to end up in veterinary medicine?” 

As if on cue, the owl between them lets out an impatient sounding hoot of a coo. 

Phil laughs. “Yeah, I’m sure.” As he strokes gently at the owl’s side, it looks as though his shoulders lose the tension they were holding. Something like relief washes across his face, tension also leaving the skin between his brows. 

“It’s so much easier this way,” Phil says, looking up at Dan as his hand disappears inside his white coat. When he pulls it back out Dan stares at his hand, at the wand in his hand, and tries to tell himself the feeling swirling in his stomach means nothing more than seeing someone else wielding a wand for the first time in many, many years. 

Phil fixes the owl right up, chattering to Dan the whole way about how he had been trying to find an excuse to send Dan out this whole time, knowing the owl would’ve probably had to lose a toe if he didn’t get magic involved. The air in the room is inexplicably lighter, conversation easy _—_ something Dan would have never expected being around someone like him again. 

Phil insists on keeping the owl for observation, and after the worry Dan feels in his chest at the suggestion flashes across his face, he also insists on taking down Dan’s number. To keep Dan updated, he says. In case he wants to give her a home. Dan shakes his head at that. He has no need for an owl. 

Of course, he finds himself jotting down his number anyway. 

Phil sees him out, the two of them lingering by the door _—_ Phil’s receptionist long gone. 

“I’d love to catch up,” Phil says, stopping Dan once he finally turns to push open the door. 

“We never really…” Dan trails off. He’s not sure why. He feels a tug towards Phil. He _likes_ Phil. But he’s kind of centered his whole life around avoiding all of _this._ It’s at least the truth, he doesn’t think he could lie to Phil anyway _—_ they really never were friends back then. Dan’s pretty sure they said less than five words to each other, probably less if he’s being honest. 

“Yeah, yeah. Uh-” Phil grabs at the back of his neck, his hand scratching there as his face flushes. “Sorry. I don’t- That was silly of me to think,” he says quietly, looking down at their shoes. 

Dan’s brows tug together. “Phil, what are you on about?” 

Phil looks back up, sheepish. “I was trying to ask you out?” His eyes are big, wide as he waits for a second round of rejection. 

_Oh._

Dan smiles at the realization. There’s something about Phil that makes him throw out all rationality, not at all questioning whether this is a good idea or not.

He reckons it’s not. He reckons he was already fucked the second he walked through the door behind him _—_ or, actually, the second he dialed this vet’s number in a last ditch effort. 

“I reckon you owe me one for being a contributing factor to your grand fortune,” Dan says with a wink. 

Surprise, then delight washes across Phil’s face. He smiles at Dan, all bright getting his teeth involved. In it, Dan sees that goofy, but somehow charming, Hufflepuff with the dark hair and lopsided smiles. 

“That’s only fair.” 

Well, this definitely isn’t how Dan imagined his Friday afternoon going. 


	3. Chapter 3

He’s pacing. He knows he’s pacing—drawing attention. Or, well, not necessarily piquing the interest of anyone at all. Dan’s own eyes trail after a group of passers-by, all of theirs sliding inexplicably off to the left—away from Dan and his pacing that’s going to start wearing a divot into the concrete if he keeps up at it. 

This is so stupid. He mutters similar thoughts under his breath as the rising and falling pressure in his chest skews just on the edge of panic. Or maybe he’s just unfit. That’s why he’s breathing heavy—twenty uninterrupted minutes of franting pacing is more than capable of winding him. 

_So_ stupid. 

Deep down he knew this would be the case, a safeguard in telling Phil he’d meet him there. He shouldn’t be meeting him at all, _anywhere,_ but especially not _there._ But he’s kind of helpless when he comes to the vet—always has been, really. 

And honestly, it’s kind of his own damn fault for making the suggestion. He didn’t _actually_ think Phil would insist on taking him out for the drink, and he didn’t want to be weird about it by suggesting somewhere else—he’s been plenty weird already. 

Dan sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as he stops in his tracks. The pavement’s probably grateful for it. 

“Ah, fuck it,” Dan says low under his breath. And with a movement that’s unsurprisingly as easy as breathing, he’s somewhere he hasn’t been in quite some time. 

At least Phil didn’t have to see this display of embarrassment, he muses to himself as he wipes his hands on his jeans—displacing intangible dust. 

It’s as if the alley’s been frozen in time. Exactly how he remembers. Dan doesn’t know how he feels about that, his feet taking him in the correct direction before his brain can even catch up. 

It’s a beautiful day. Always is.

The slight overcasting clouds Dan paced under are no longer overhead. The sun shines through the buildings and the breeze climbing under Dan’s big sweater is crisp, fresh. He tugs his sleeves over his hands as he walks, folding them over his chest and lifting his shoulders the slightest bit. 

He’s not sure if the shiver hitting each individual vertebrae of his spine is from the cold, the unnecessary rips all the way up and down his jeans, or from the memories trying to bubble to the forefront of his mind. He shakes them away—they’re in the past for a reason. Dan is in the now, the present, and he’d quite like to stay there. 

He’s here. He’s okay. 

Dan spots the tall frame, the dark hair, in the distance, and his pace picks up as he preoccupies himself with fidgeting with his hair. He peers into a few shop display reflections, seeing himself rather than anything else. Once he’s ruined his hair and put it back together—twice—he bounds up to Phil with a wide smile. 

He’s more than okay. 

“Make it alright?” Phil asks with a bright smile. He steps forward as Dan approaches, goes to lift his arms as if he wants to pull Dan into a hug, but he seems to think twice of it at the last second, stuffing his hands into the front pockets of his jeans instead. Dan smiles at the odd angle he chooses for them. That can’t be comfortable. 

“Yeah,” Dan lies. He doesn’t need to disclose the odd feeling in his stomach from being back here. It’s settling now, and the rapid beat of his heart—making his head light and breath a little short—is now from a different source entirely. 

Despite the chill in the air, Dan’s palms feel sweaty. His cheeks heat as he ducks through the entrance of the pub, Phil holding open the door for him. There’s no doubt that his entire face is littered in splotches of red by now. 

He’s nervous. That’s what he’s feeling. Actual fluttering nerves in his stomach over a bloody date. 

A date with a guy he’s fancied since school, his brain reminds him—as well as his surroundings. Everything, really, just refusing to let Dan have one single moment sans overstimulation. He looks at Phil, his heart races. He looks around the half-empty pub—seemingly an off day, or hour, Dan doesn’t keep track of those things anymore—and his heart races. He’s just going to have to adjust, he thinks as he shoos Phil away from the chair he’s trying to pull out for Dan to sit. Phil’s frown in response only flashes for a second, smirking whilst pulling out the chair without laying a hand on it. 

“Menace.” Dan blushes further, sitting down. Phil merely giggles—asks him what he’d like to drink as if there wasn’t a specific reason for this particular destination. 

When Phil returns—a steaming Butterbeer slid towards Dan, a frozen one set down on the other side of the table—Dan’s quick to draw his own wand. Phil’s squeak turns into a hearty chuckle as his chair scoots him flush to the table. 

It’s so _easy._

“Payback.” Dan winks. 

“Thank you,” Phil says, laughing. “Seems chivalry isn’t dead.” 

Dan fakes a gag, sending the other side of the small table off into more laughter. It's probably too loud for the pub, but Phil doesn’t seem to care. Dan decides he doesn’t either. It’s hard to keep track of, or fret over, strange eyes on him—judging, assessing, whatever they’re doing—when he’s looking at Phil. 

The dark jumper he’s wearing glints in the bits of sun that stream in from the window across the room. It seems only fitting that Phil glitters. 

Black makes Phil’s pale skin look even creamier, softer, but Dan was already well aware of that fact. Phil’s hair is as dark as his jumper, darker than when he saw him last. Dan isn’t sure if it’s on account of the lighting or a transfiguration. 

He wonders, briefly, if the wizard working at a muggle vet gets his hair color from a box or the tip of a wand. He doesn’t ask, too distracted by the occasional silver strands that shine just like his jumper. 

Phil just radiates magic. And Dan doesn’t think _actual_ magic has anything to do with it. 

Dan wraps his hands around the warm stein in front of him, bringing it up to his lips to at least attempt to act like he isn’t just staring. 

He is. He definitely is. 

And Phil… Phil is staring too, but it doesn’t feel weird. Dan doesn’t even take a sip. He simply lets that wave of nostalgia roll and crash with the smell tickling under his nose, getting used to the odd feelings that come with it as he watches Phil take a gulp of his own. Phil shivers, wincing in the cutest way Dan’s ever seen someone experience brain freeze, then takes another sip once his face is less scrunched up. 

Dan takes a small sip, the sweetness almost eliciting a similar reaction. He wonders if they got sweeter. Have they always been this sweet? Has he forgotten with age, or—more likely—become less tolerant of it with age? It’s not at all bad, though. It’s warming. Nice. Dan’s eyes flick up from the drink in his hand to Phil’s eyes. 

He’ll just have to brush his teeth for a few extra minutes later tonight. How did he never get cavities back- 

“Absolute madman to order cold in this weather.” Dan chuckles, reining in his thoughts with assistance of the most brilliant shade of blue. 

“Thought it would bring back the warm weather.” Phil’s bottom lip pushes out the slightest bit. Dan wants to lean across the table and kiss it. 

He doesn’t—smiles instead, setting his drink down to lean forward, resting his chin in his hand. “How’s that going for you?” 

“I was never good at the charm for that.” Phil frowns. Dan doesn’t miss how he leans in closer as well, as if the two of them are being drawn to the center of the table. “Always mucked it up and made it snow,” he adds, scrunching up his nose. 

Dan lets out a little huff of a laugh. He’s warm—from the feeling in his chest and the low, crackling fire in the wall beside him—but his response comes in the form of a low muttered charm that brings the fire roaring back to life. 

When his eyes flick back to Phil, he’s smiling wide, his eyes squeezed closed as if he’s soaking in the new warmth on his face. Ethereal is the only word Dan’s brain supplies. 

“Better?” Dan asks. 

Phil nods, humming something full of contentment. Dan thinks about that cute noise, fills his head with it so he doesn’t have to think about how he’s had his wand in his hand more in the last ten minutes than the past two weeks. 

It doesn’t feel weird. Dan’s not sure what he thinks about that realization.

Phil’s smile wipes every thought from Dan’s brain. Dan doesn’t even have a moment to start spiraling before Phil opens his eyes again, making sure he’s the only thing Dan’s thinking about. It works, it definitely works. 

Dan clears his throat. “So, do you come here often?” 

Phil snorts, eyes twinkling—they just keep doing that, don’t they?

“I’ve never had someone use a pick up line on me on a date before.” 

“First time for everything,” Dan laughs. But he shakes his head. “Wasn’t a line though,” he clarifies. “I’m genuinely curious if you’re here a lot.” Dan waves his hand in the air between them. “You know, muggle job and all.” 

Phil smiles at that, setting his drink down to mirror Dan—chin propped up on his hand. 

“I’ve always been fascinated with non-magic creatures. They’re just so unique, you know, when you grow up with hippogriffs and unicorns.” 

Dan nods. He gets it. He really does. 

“I tried the whole Magizoology route,” Phil continues. He narrows his eyes a bit, pensive. He shakes his head once he’s captured whatever thought he was reeling in, then, he smiles. “Boring,” is all he says. 

Dan snorts. There’s something different about a wizard claiming creatures such as dragons are boring. He would say it’s weird—Phil’s weird—if it weren’t for how much he relates to the sentiment. 

Dan’s waiting for him to continue, answer his original question, maybe getting a little lost in the sea of his eyes, when Phil’s soft, humorous smile goes more thoughtful. He actually starts to frown a bit as his brows pull together, looking as if he’s studying something on Dan’s face. 

He lets his expression fall neutral—was there too much infatuation showing there? Dan has been known to wear his heart on his sleeve. Dialing it down doesn’t seem to help though, Phil only leans a bit further across the table. 

“What?” Dan laughs nervously, goes to wipe at his upper lip, suddenly horrified at the very real possibility of a Butterbeer stache. “Have I got something on my face?” 

Phil blinks at that, shaking his head in a quick, but small, motion. “No! No, sorry!” His face goes bright pink as he settles back in his chair. Dan doesn’t know why he’s immediately pulled forward, hating the distance between them. 

“I just noticed your...” Phil looks down at the table, blush quickly becoming Dan’s favorite shade—next to sea blue, perhaps. “It’s fascinating.” He gestures vaguely at his own nose with wide eyes, and it takes a second for it to click. 

When it does, Phil’s looking up at him again, sheepish. Dan would think it’s adorable, if not for the way he so desperately wants Phil to never feel embarrassed around him. 

_Merlin._ He’s really gone for it, isn’t he? 

Dan absentmindedly lifts a hand, spinning the golden hoop in his nostril. 

“It’s nice.” Phil smiles meekly. “Cute,” he adds, softer. 

Yeah, that rosy shade of pink dusting Phil’s cheeks is absolutely the best color Dan’s eyes have ever had the pleasure of seeing.

Phil shifts in his seat, eyes never leaving Dan’s face as he picks his drink back up—almost as if he didn’t occupy his hands with it he’d be reaching right across the table. 

Dan kind of wants him to. 

He stops fiddling with his nose ring, locking his fingers together to rest his chin on both his hands. Mostly to stop _himself_ from reaching across the table. “You didn’t answer my first question,” he says with a soft smile. 

“Oh?” Phil’s face scrunches up— _cute—_ as he thinks. “Oh!” The crease between his brows disappears. “Not too often. Frequently enough.” He does a tiny shrug. “Some would say I have a bit of a sweet tooth, and it’s hard to curb a Butterbeer craving with muggle sweets. Or-” Phil’s eyes go wide, licking his lips, “-chocolate frogs.” He hums as he closes his eyes. 

“Oh my god,” Dan laughs, “chocolate frogs. Fuck. Now _that’s_ something I miss.” His tone is oddly… wistful. 

“It’s just not the same,” Phil says. 

Dan shakes his head. He can almost taste the smooth chocolate on his tongue as he reminisces. “Yeah,” he hums. 

“How about you?” Phil leans forward, keeping his hands wrapped around his stein. “Tell me about yourself.” 

“M'not that interesting,” Dan mutters, looking down. There’s a noise of protest from the other side of the table, one that makes Dan’s cheeks heat all the way up to the top of his ears. He looks up with his lip trapped between his teeth. Phil’s expression is so… open—calming. 

“I don’t come back often,” Dan says. “Actually thought you’d might be like me, that’s why I asked.” 

Phil’s brows knit together. “Like you?” 

Dan sighs. Surprisingly, it doesn’t sound sad. “I haven’t been back here since school,” he explains. “I don’t know,” now his voice goes a bit dejected, “bad memories, I guess.”

Dan’s eyes flick down to the too-sweet drink in front of him, he speaks to its frothy head. “I just think there’s something toxic about it.” He looks back up to Phil. “Even if it’s in my own head.” 

“No, yeah.” Phil shakes his head. “Yeah, I get that.” 

“You do?” 

Phil nods, pressing his lips together as his face goes a little scrunchy again. Thinking—Dan’s named that look. 

“Sometimes I feel like it’s easier to breathe, keeping it at a distance,” Phil says, thoughtfully, after a beat of silence. “I feel more comfortable in the muggle world.” 

Wow.

Despite obviously being more connected to… all of this, it may not be so ridiculous to think that he and Phil are similar. In that moment—where all Dan can do is hum in agreement, nodding—he finds the air around them sweeter. Almost as sweet as the beverage before him. 

“I’m sorry,” Phil says, his lips tugged down. “I shouldn’t have made you come here. I wouldn’t if I had-” 

Dan unlocks his fingers to lift a hand, waving him off. “You didn’t make me do anything,” he says with a soft smile. “I want to be here. It’s nice.” 

“You’re just saying that.” 

Dan shakes his head, letting the back of his hand rest on the center of the table, fingers splayed out—open. “Drop some Veritaserum in my system and I’d say the same.” 

Phil’s eyes go wide, a hushed shush leaving his lips as he looks around the pub. That makes Dan laugh, loud and unrestricted—drawing the attention Phil was concerned about. Phil looks at him, eyes no less wide, absolutely scandalized. 

Dan leaves his hand between the two of them, an offering. 

“You know,” Dan says, laughter still in his voice, “I was on track to work for the Ministry.” It’s the most casual he’s ever said the words. Phil seems to have that effect. 

Phil's eyes go impossibly wider, Dan would be concerned if it weren’t so cute. He scoots his chair closer to the table, a cold hand leaving the side of his drink to rest over Dan’s. Dan shivers, once again feeling it down the entire length of his spine. The soft pad of Phil’s index finger traces the visible vein under the delicate skin of Dan’s wrist. Dan can almost see the reflection of his own dark eyes in Phil’s. 

Something about them makes him want to tell Phil everything—and so when Phil asks, he does. 

“Do you think…” Dan says quietly as they walk, hand in hand, down the cobblestone street. Time seemed to pass in a peculiar way, or maybe it was completely linear and they really did talk and talk until the sun set lower in the sky. After a glance out the window behind him, Phil had taken Dan’s hand in a whirlwind, tugging him at a pace that almost sent them toppling over each other’s long legs to stop by the candy shop before close. 

Phil fished a handful of coins from his pocket when Dan went wide eyed with the chocolates in his hand, remembering he no longer carries suitable currency. Any attempts to pay him back were brushed off, and Dan’s face has never seen a brighter shade of red. 

Phil called them even as they unwrapped their spoils, dropping Dan’s hand to swipe his card and swap them as he declared Dan had superior luck. 

They’re back on the overwhelmingly normal London streets now—after a particularly dicey moment in which Phil’s frog nearly hopped right out of his hand. 

Dan swallows around the melted chocolate in his mouth to finish his thought. “Do you think chocolate frogs are like… _vegetarian_?” 

Phil whips his head to the side, all wide eyes and a bit of chocolate at the corner of his open mouth. 

“If they aren’t I _don’t_ want to know,” Phil matches Dan’s hushed tone. 

“Me either.” Dan laughs. And because he apparently hasn’t had enough sweets, he tugs Phil closer by the hand, cupping his jaw with the other to plant a kiss on his lips. Phil jumps, but quickly melts. He follows Dan back with a low whine in his throat when he pulls away, using his thumb to wipe at the remaining chocolate on his mouth. 

Warm laughter fills the chilled streets, Dan leaning into Phil’s side as they keep walking, his thumb in his mouth. 

“I thought of a name,” Dan says to an unfamiliar ceiling. 

“A name?” Phil asks. Sheets shuffle around in Dan’s ears, and he turns his head to drink Phil in—all flushed cheeks, messy dark hair, and eyes so impossibly blue even in the low light. Dan tucks his hands under his cheek and lets his heart swell. 

“For the bird.” 

A soft chuckle fills their shared space. “Is that so?” 

Dan can make out the smug smirk pulling at Phil’s lips. He tries to kiss it off of him but it’s a fruitless endeavor, Phil is entirely too fixated on Dan’s admission. 

He wants to keep the owl. 

Before Dan can even think about responding—say anything else—Phil scoops him up in his arms, rolling them around in a display that should probably not be as comfortable as it is for all of their uncoordinated limbs knocking together. Their foreheads bump just a little too harshly, and they both end up racked in wheezing laughter. 

“I am going to send you _so many_ love letters,” Phil manages to get out through excited giggles. 

Dan reckons he’ll have to come to terms with leaving his window open from now on. He’s no longer afraid of what may come through. 

_The Greek words nostos—homecoming—and algos—pain—seem to make the perfect word._

_Nostalgia._


End file.
